


A Whispered Lullaby

by linndechir



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Protectiveness, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5069158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Ronan brings things from his dreams that don't belong in this world, and sometimes Declan is the only one there for him when he wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Whispered Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plutonianshores](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/gifts).



> I tried to combine a few of your prompts, dear recip, and I hope that you like the result. I was initially planning to write Ronan/Declan, but somehow that didn't fit with the way this fic was going, so you get some protective sibling love instead. Hope you enjoy it. :)

Declan woke to the sound of water running in the bathroom next door, accompanied by muffled cursing. Ronan then – neither Matthew nor their mother swore quite that much, and their father hadn't been home for the past week. For a few minutes Declan just lay in the dark, stretched out under his blankets, and listened – the toilet being flushed, more swearing, the clatter of something falling onto the bathroom tiles. When he realised that his brother wasn't going to quiet down any time soon, he forced himself out of his bed with a deep groan.

He was surprised to find the bathroom door unlocked, even more surprised to see blood staining the white tiles, and Ronan's eyes were wide with pain and fear when he looked up at his brother. He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub in nothing but his boxers and held both his hands over the sink. Blood was dripping from several cuts on his hands and forearms.

“Jesus Christ, Declan, you ever hear of knocking?” he snapped and all but jumped up, hissed in pain when he hit one of his hands against the side of the sink.

“You ever hear of not making that much noise in the middle of the night?” Declan was too tired and too worried to get mad about his brother's tone, closed the door quickly behind himself and stepped closer. “What the hell did you do to yourself this time?”

“I didn't do shit,” Ronan said, his eyes following Declan suspiciously. There was blood on the toilet seat, too, and something that looked like a long, detached insect leg. Black, with a metallic shine and something that looked like a razor-sharp claw at the end. It was about as long as Declan's middle finger, but it looked vicious and nothing like any insect he'd ever seen in the real world. He swallowed hard when he realised that there was only one other place it could have come from then. 

“Do I want to know where the rest of that is?”

Ronan paled even more, then looked down. “Flushed it. It's dead. Just some bug.”

Declan snorted, flicked the leg into the toilet as well, trying to ignore the sickening, rattling sound the metallic exoskeleton made when he flushed it down.

“You got a sick imagination, little brother,” he sighed and picked up the bottle of disinfectant that Ronan had tried to get from the bathroom cupboard when it had slipped from his blood-slick hands. “Bad dream?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Ronan said stubbornly, but he didn't protest when Declan took his hands and started washing the blood from his cuts. None of them were particularly deep, but Declan still made his brother move every finger carefully to check for injured nerves or tendons.

“Don't try to bullshit me. We both know that I know.”

“Dad doesn't like us talking about it,” Ronan replied, and at any other time Declan might have been amused that Ronan, for all his carefully cultivated rebelliousness at school, could barely even consider the idea of disobeying his father. 

“Dad isn't here, or he'd be the one cleaning up your mess.” Declan ran his fingertips over Ronan's palm, and once he'd turned off the water, he noticed that Ronan's hands were shaking. And not only his hands, but his shoulders, too. Declan grabbed a soft towel and knelt down in front of Ronan to dry off his hands.

“Does that happen a lot? That you … bring things you didn't mean to bring?” He kept his voice soft, soothing, like he had when Ronan had been much younger, when he'd still dreamt half his bad dreams curled up against Declan in his bed because he didn't want to sleep alone.

Ronan shook his head, and for a few seconds Declan thought that was all the answer he was going to get. The prickliness seemed to have gone out of Ronan now, he only looked shaken and exhausted, and his voice sounded so small.

“Just a few times. They're not very big, I can just … squash them in my hand. They always get a few scratches in, just not that many usually.”

He flinched when Declan started dabbing disinfectant into the cuts, but he didn't pull away. Their father's boxing lessons had always gone hand in hand with teaching his sons how to patch up the odd cut or scratch, though Declan had never seen his brother cut up quite that badly. Ronan wasn't crying, but he looked like he wanted to, or maybe just like he was too tired to cry.

“You should've woken me,” Declan said. Ronan's fingers curled lightly around his thumb, holding on to him. Declan didn't think Ronan was even aware of what he was doing.

“Dad would've –”

“Dad's not here. I am.” He regretted the words almost as soon as he'd said them – expected Ronan's obligatory teenage protests that he didn't need Declan to try and play father when Niall wasn't around, even though he was quite sure that Ronan mostly protested because he liked a good fight and Declan was one of the few people who could keep up with him. But now Ronan only nodded, kept holding still while Declan bandaged his hands and forearms. 

It was as silent as any room in the Barns ever got, there was always a sense of wood breathing and creaking in the farmhouse, but Declan never paid those sounds any mind. He only listened to his brother's breathing and his own, to the quiet hitch in Ronan's breath when the bandages were too tight and Declan had to loosen them a bit. Ronan had his bare knee pressed against Declan's shoulder to keep it from trembling as well; he looked pale in the harsh bathroom light, and younger than he had in a while.

“I look like a mummy,” Ronan observed when Declan was done, his voice still shaky.

“You look like a boxer.” Declan gave him a small smile. He stashed the first-aid kit away and washed his hands, and from the corner of his eyes he saw Ronan wriggle his fingers in the bandages.

“We're not boxing for at least a week,” Ronan said. “And if you call me a pussy for that, I'm going to kick you in the kneecap. Both kneecaps.”

“Sure. I bet you'll love walking to school because I can't drive you with two broken kneecaps.”

“Nah, that just means I won't have to go to school. Double win.” Ronan finally grinned a little, a shaky, unsure thing that still looked like it could vanish any moment. Declan had been meaning to send him back to bed with some barb about how most kids at least only tried to get themselves killed while they were awake, but he hated seeing Ronan like this, hated that this _thing_ that Ronan and their father shared was so goddamn dangerous and that Niall didn't seem to be doing much to protect Ronan from it. _Keep an eye on your brothers _, he'd say to Declan every time he went one one of his trips. As if there was anything Declan could do to keep Ronan safe from his own mind.__

__“C'mon, you're sleeping in my room tonight.” He used his big brother voice, the one that still worked on Matthew and had never truly worked on Ronan unless Ronan let it._ _

__“I'm not five.” Ronan sounded offended in the way that only a fifteen-year-old who thought he wasn't being taken seriously could, but he let Declan pull him to his feet and stumbled along obediently when his brother manoeuvred him out of the bathroom._ _

__“You can either sleep in my room or I can wake mom and let her fuss over you,” Declan said, as if he'd actually go and frighten their mother like that, but it still worked like a charm, or maybe Ronan actually wanted to come along. The corridor and Declan's room were almost pitch dark, but they both would have found their way blind through the Barns at any time, knew the house as if it was a part of them, of who they were, and even with Ronan leaning heavily against his shoulder, Declan didn't stumble over the uneven doorsill of his room or the clothes spread out on the floor._ _

__Ronan's skin was clammy with sweat even as he was shivering, and Declan realised too late that his brother probably could have done with a hot shower. But he decided that insisting on that now would probably stretch Ronan's patience too far, especially once Ronan had sat down on the edge of his bed._ _

__“Haven't slept here in a while.” It was too dark to make out Ronan's expression, but his voice was almost wistful, and Declan bit back the urge to remind him that he had been the one who'd stop coming to his room. Not that he didn't get it – no teenage boy wanted to wake up pressed against his brother, the one time _that_ had happened Ronan had been so embarrassed he hadn't talked to Declan in a week._ _

__“Hope you haven't started snoring.” Declan tried to keep his voice casual even as his throat and chest felt tight. Ronan's chuckle was muffled by the rustling of blankets when he lay down, and the sheets were still warm when Declan joined him in bed._ _

__“No louder than you.”_ _

__Ronan had already hogged Declan's pillow and turned his back towards him, and after a moment's hesitation Declan just lay down against him, his bare chest brushing lightly against his brother's bare back, Ronan's feet – cold from the bathroom tiles – pressed against his calves, Ronan's hair tickling his nose. For a few minutes it was tense and awkward, like two strangers trying to share a space meant for either brothers or lovers, but then Ronan's breathing slowed down and he relaxed against Declan, even moved a little closer. Declan finally dared to put his arm lightly around him, his palm pressed against Ronan's chest under the warm blankets._ _

__“Something else happens, you wake me, all right?” Declan mumbled into Ronan's hair when he was almost sure Ronan had drifted off again. Ronan didn't reply, but he covered Declan's hand on his chest with his own, the roughness of the bandages a terrifying reminder of just how easy it would be for something to happen to Ronan – when Declan wasn't there to protect him, or worse, something that Declan wouldn't be able to protect him from even if he was there._ _

__He tightened his embrace until Ronan growled softly in protest, and even after he'd let up he kept listening to Ronan's breathing as intently as if it would somehow reveal all the secrets his brother kept so tightly locked in his mind, all the things he refused to share with anyone but his father – or maybe not even with him._ _

__Part of Declan wanted to stay up all night, to watch over Ronan and make sure he would be all right now, but the warmth and the familiarity of Ronan's smell were almost like a lullaby, and before he'd even noticed he was dozing off, he was fast asleep._ _

__When he woke in the morning, Ronan had somehow turned in his arms, his head tucked under Declan's chin, his bandaged hands both resting against Declan's chest. He smelt of moss and fog like he'd been outside, and he smelt of Declan, and he slept so peacefully that Declan almost dared to hope that for once Ronan wasn't dreaming._ _


End file.
